MATH was my favorite subject in grade school. I was always fascinated by the workings of the numbers and its ability to create solutions to multitude of problems. Math is precise and there is no ambiguity to the result regardless of the method employed in calculating it.
As a child, l was gifted to add, subtract, multiply and divide without the aid of a pencil and paper much more of a calculator. When I was young, I do mathematical calculation and explore different types of mathematical equations to avoid boredom and to display my prowess. Being the only girl in the family, it was only in math that I can overtake my brothers, much to their disdain.
Before my siblings and I entered grade school, my mother regularly gave us math drill after dinner or on a weekend. I was always victorious and no one can beat me in math, even my older brother. At age five, I was brought to a kindergarten class where I was the top of the class. Even if I was seated at the last row, I can see clearly and can answer questions before anyone could even read and comprehend what were on the board. I was far ahead of my class and all the teachers adored my intelligence, wit and charm.
When I entered elementary school, I was admitted in the pilot class of a public school. Again, I was seated at the farthest raw but this time, I could hardly read what was on the board. The white chalk written on a green backdrop appeared all scattered and images looked blurred. I was no longer the top pupil, I don’t get anymore the same accolade and worse, the tallest girl in our class kept on bullying me. All I recalled was I started to feel sad, alone and confused. Being young, I had difficulty processing what was going on around me.
When I move to second grade, we were seated alphabetically, based on our surnames. Luckily, I was at the front row. Images on the board were all very clear to me and every school problems seemed very easy to solve. I regained my self-confidence and I started participating in other school activities. That prompted me to request my teacher in third grade to sit me on the front row. As a concession, I even volunteered to list down all the misbehaving pupils in the class while the teacher was out. I was ecstatic and proud. A leader in our class, I was on top of the world.
It was during that same year while I was in my third grade that my youngest brother entered the same school as a first grader. He was admitted at the lowest section where pupils were classified as slow and with learning disability. I recalled him wearing a thick framed eye glasses and being called by his schoolmates as “labo.” My brother, who used to be very vibrant, became quiet, hardly had friends and never did well in school. I felt for him and promised myself never to wear eye glasses, as it occurred to me that time that I may also have blurring vision. Yet, I don’t want to experience the same humiliation, fear and bullying that my brother was going through, hence, I did my best to always be seated at the front row.
However, when I move to fourth grade, I noticed that my eyesight was further deteriorating. I could not see at all what were on the board even from my preferred seat. I forced my eyes to read from afar until I later developed chronic headaches. I never told anyone, not even my mother that I had problem with my vision. I was afraid to wear that dreaded thick-framed eyeglasses and be ridiculed by my classmates. I would rather be an average student than to be poked fun with and be labeled as “labo.”
My greatest frustration and disappointment came when my math teacher put me in what they call “row four,” where all the dumb, lazy and notorious pupils were grouped together. We had special session after class when the teacher would slowly lecture us so we can catch up with the previous lessons. I could hardly comprehend what I was feeling every time I was on remedial classes. It was a mix of anger, shame and fear. I don’t want to fail in this subject. I know I was good in math. In fact, I always had fun with math as a child. I love mathematics. It was my first adventure, my childhood friend, and my first love.
To compensate for my blurred vision, I tried to make use of my hearing capabilities. I trained myself to solve mathematical problems from verbal instructions. I learned to concentrate while the teacher was lecturing as that was my only source of learning. I also actively participated in class discussions and activities that do not require reading from afar. Much to my amazement, during long exams, when questionnaires were handed out, I almost always got perfect scores.
I graduated in elementary an average student. I was not even included in the top 10 of the class. I was quiet, shy and had very small group of friends. Yet, my desire to succeed and my love for math never left me. I later went to an all-exclusive Catholic school for girls for my secondary education. I thought that my new environment was more caring, accepting and less harsh. With courage, I told my mother eventually that I needed a pair of eyeglasses, but I pleaded that I’d be given a more fashionable frame that was more fitting to a teenager like me. I had my wish granted and from that day on, my life had changed. I graduated from high school and university with honors, and I became a Certified Public Accountant.
Looking back, I could have had a more memorable, fun and fulfilling childhood if not for my blurring vision. My teachers could have been more sensitive to my condition and noticed that I was not really a slow learner but a smart and talented student with poor eyesight. The school environment could have been more compassionate to children with disability, and be more accepting of their condition. Who knows that behind those odd looking glasses could be a gifted child who would someday make a significant contribution to the society.
Linda Oliva Collantes Ramos